A 3-Holiday Weekend and a Week in Spain

Another loooong one....

In the past 4 days I've celebrated 3 major holidays. On Thursday, I celebrated Thanksgiving, though not a Moroccan holiday by any means. Yesterday, Saturday, it was Eid al Adha (Festival of Sacrifice) or commonly referred to here in Morocco and other parts of North Africa as Eid ul Kabir, which literally means "The Big Eid" or "The Greater Eid" ("Eid" meaning holiday or festival) and today we celebrated "El Clasico", the football (or 'soccer' for those Americans reading) match between FC Barcelona and Real Madrid, the two most popular teams in Spain and two of the best teams in all of Europe (or the world for that matter). For Thanksgiving dinner, I was invited to a nice Italian restaurant by two of my really good friends from Tangier, Imane and Taha. In order to keep the tradition, I asked the three of us to share what we were thankful for in our lives. It was a special moment to take a break of our busy lives and share what we are thankful for. Even though I didn't see turkey (traditional to eat on Thanksgiving) on the menu, the highlight for me was the feeling of gratitude that we easily forget with our busy lives in which we often to take things for granted more than be thankful for (I am speaking about myself more than anyone else, because I in no place to judge your gratitude. I confess that I among the worst at pausing to say 'thanks' for health, for food, for being in Morocco, for another day of life, for my family, for my amazing friends and relationships, for God and everything he has done in my life, for moments of joy, for hardships, and for education and for opportunities). I am still learning how to have the grateful mentality that Henri Nouwen seemed to have mastered during his 6 month stay in South America, "I learned that everything that is, is freely given by the God of love. All is grace. Light and water, shelter and food, work and fee time, children, parents and grandparents, birth and death--it is all given to us. Why? So that we can say "gracias", thanks: thanks to God, thanks to each other, thanks to all and everyone" (Gracias! p.187). Many Christians practice the tradition of saying "Grace" before eating. It is a time to give thanks to God for providing the food and in the words of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., no follower of Christ should begin eating without first giving thanks to God as well as praying for those who are not fortunate to eat regularly (my paraphrase, taken from his autobiography). I have prayed only a handful of times before my meals and it is something I really miss. I mentioned it a bit in my entry about my reflections of Ramadan... I wish that it was part of the Muslim and/or Moroccan tradition to pray before meals. I know some do, but it is very rare. After sharing the things we were (and are) grateful for, Taha said that he missed saying grace. A few months ago he came to visit me in California and it was there that he remembered one night when my girlfriend prayed before our meal and also for my roommate Chad, as it was his birthday. It was a moment that stuck out to him whereas for me it was the status quo, the normal thing to do. Isn't it amazing how contagious a little bit of prayer and gratitude can be? Just as fear and anger can be contagious, so is gratitude. Let us work on spreading gratitude, even if it's a small and simple prayer before a meal or for someone's birthday. You never know how it might affect someone else and how it can spread like a wildfire. I think the more grateful we are, even for the little things, the more people will see and acknowledge the goodness of God and respond in a way of gratitude and worship. After all, isn't gratitude a form of worship?

Back to the holidays. Holiday #2 was yesterday. It is possibly the biggest holiday in the Islamic tradition. Called, "Eid al Adha", it is a day when every Muslim family, if financially able, must slaughter a sheep. The slaughtering of the sheep is to recall the story shared by Muslims, Christians, and Jews of the faithfulness of Abraham to sacrifice his own son and becuase of his faithfulness, God provided a sheep (more specifically, a ram) in place of his own son. I read the story (the Judeo-Christian version which is found in Genesis chapter 22 in the Bible) yesterday and thought to myself, "What a crazy story!" One random day God tells Abraham, "Hey, go take your son, your only son, Isaac, whom you love, and sacrifice him as a burnt offering." So Abraham wakes up the next morning, takes his donkey and his son Isaac out into the forest to be sacrificed. No big deal, right? Let us not forget one of the most important moments in history when God tells Abraham--no... God promises Abraham--that he will not only become a father, but the father of a "great nation" and that all the people of the earth will be blessed through him and his descendants. I'm not going to go into everything here, but the basic things to know is that Abraham was childless, and even at nearly 100 years of age, his wife still didn't bare any children. Finally, they have one, a boy named Isaac. Then one day he's just supposed to go burn his child as a sacrifice, the same kid who is going to fulfill the original promise God gave Abraham--all because God asked him to? What was God thinking? Talk about a crazy story! Because of Abraham's faithfulness and obedience to God, a sheep/ram was provided to take the place of Isaac and then sacrificed. In Islamic tradition, the slaughtering of the sheep, or ram, is done by each financially able family to remember the faithfulness and obedience of Abraham to God.

I woke up to the sound of Arabic chants coming from the mosque next door. Laying in bed, it had the same feel to the other Eid we celebrated three months ago at the end of Ramadan. Believers went to the mosque firs thing in the morning yesterday as they did three months ago and chanted prayers yesterday as at the end of Ramadan. But once I got out of bed, it was a completely different holiday. Whereas the other Eid, Eid Al Fitr, people left the mosque all wearing djellabas and traditional clothes, greeting everyone on the streets and being social, this Eid, Eid al Adha, was concerned solely with one thing... the sheep. On Haitams narrow street, little makeshift corrals were set up the past week to gather the sheep and hold them there until they were sold and/or slaughtered on the Eid. As people left the mosque, they took their sheep that they previously purchased and dragged it to their homes. Watching this from the rooftop terrace, I looked down on the street to see fathers dragging the sheep by their horns, usually with the help of the anxious little kids. Once they got to the front door, a man (often the hired butcher) would grab the sheep by the four legs and carry it up the stairs to the rooftop. (For those in America or not familiar with Morocco, most people in Morocco live in apartments or apartment-like houses. In other words, most people don't have isolated houses with their own yards or area around the house. Each house and/or apartment building has a rooftop/terrace... which is usually the location for the slaughtering of the sheep... or hanging clothes out to dry on every other day) Once the sheep was on the terrace, its legs were tied. At this point the butcher, with the help of one or two others to help hold the body of the sheep down, would hold the head down against the ground, it's throat facing toward the sky, and according to proper 'halaal' procedures (if unfamiliar with halaal meat, wikipedia it for more info) would cut the throat of the sheep. At this point, blood would go everywhere. Sometimes the blog just gushed calmly on to the ground, other times it squirted, and pretty far too! As Haitam's family bought three sheep, I got to see this process several times. It was all a new experience for me. I missed the slaughtering of the first one because when I got up to the terrace they were already taking off the head. So I watched from that point on for the first sheep, and other two sheep, observed the whole process. After the throat is cut, the blood gushes and squirts. If you ever get to be a part of this ceremony one day, I would recommend staying at least 6 or 7 feet (2 meters) away, as you might get an unexpected surprise... sort of like the 'splash zone' at Sea World. The cutting of the neck, and it's huge artery, is said to be the quickest way to slaughter an animal, and the way that creates the least amount of suffering for the animal. I'm not an expert, so don't quote me... this is just what I've been told. Maybe wikipedia will have better information.

Anyway, after the blood stops and the sheep is dead, the butcher (and maybe another butcher or help from any other guys willing to get their hands a little dirty) does what he needs to do to remove the head. I know that's vague. I'm trying to be descriptive, but also I don't want to be too vivid, especially for those who don't like this kind of stuff. What I'll say is this... we like to pretend, or should I say, turn a blind eye toward this seemingly gruesome event and idea of slaughtering. But for those of you who eat any meat or chicken or lamb or even fish, are eating something (an animal) that has been through a slaughtering process like this, but probably worse (at least if you're in the US). I'm not up-to-date on my animal rights knowledge or awareness of slaughterhouses in the US, but I imagine that the animals go through much worse conditions than what I described above. What America does really well is distancing its people from the origins of the food we eat. I'm not saying it's your fault or my fault or a major problem in the world today, but I do think we need to be aware of where our food comes from and how it gets to us. In other words, we might enjoy the luxury of having fresh vegetables for cheap prices in our grocery stores, but against having any immigrants, especially illegal ones, in our country. I am pretty certain that many of the cheap prices are possible only because we have illegal immigrants picking them for us. Of course, not all, but I would estimate quite a bit. We can't have a double standard of enjoying cheap fruits and veggies at the same time as wanting to kick out all the illegals in America. In the same way, the chicken you had for dinner last night probably came from a factory where a single visit to that place might make you never want to eat chicken ever again... or maybe they slaughtered it like most places in Sub-Saharan Africa where someone grabs the chicken by the head, holds it off the ground and cut off it's head with a machete and after the chicken runs around like crazy without a head. I'm not saying this so that you don't touch any meat ever again, but instead that we become aware of the food we are eating. Just as I mentioned about the immigrants, you can't say, "Oh this lamb is the best lamb I have ever had!" when eating a meal at Haitam's house or at a Moroccan house or restaurant while finding the way they slaughter sheep cruel or barbaric and wanting nothing to do with it. While watching these three sheep being slaughtered, their heads taken off, skinned, and organs taken out, I felt a bit guilty taking part of something that looks so cruel... but then realized that I am the one responsible for this as I am eating beef, chicken or lamb just about every day. I think that I need to remember not to remove myself from the reality of what I am eating and to be aware of what is behind, more or less, the food on my plate.... whether it be child laborers, immigrants, cruel slaughtering methods/treatment, or a local farmer doing his best to make a living.

Back to the Eid. It was a very memorable few hours I spent up on the terrace, watching these three sheep slaughtered and the whole process that goes along with it, as well as watching sheep being dragged away to peoples' homes, and looking across the M'ssalah skyline of Tangier to see families out on their rooftops taking part in this sacred religious holiday. After it seems like all the sheep had been slaughtered, the streets were then busy with butchers walking in the neighborhood hoping for just one more slaughter. A good butcher can do the whole process in 10-20 minutes, and therefore could slaughter up to 5 or 8 different sheep at different homes and make quite a bit of hard-earned wages. Late in the morning, these butchers walked the streets, covered in blood and carrying their set of slaughtering knives. I couldn't imagine someone coming to Tangier, or anywhere in Morocco or the Muslim world for the first time, having no idea about the holiday. They would walk off the boat or out of the airport only to find the most common people on the streets were carrying large knives and covered in blood. I can't help but laugh at the thought of a somewhat wealthy, conservative, or sheltered couple making a weekend trip across the Mediterranean from Europe for the first time only to find this seemingly barbaric sight. At first glance, they were probably thinking to themselves or telling each other, "I know we shouldn't have come!" If Westerners had stereotypes of Muslims being terrorists, they were wrong about that because a walk around the streets on Saturday would have replaced the terrorist stereotypes with the reality they were a bunch of violent murderers (animals of course). haha!

For lunch fresh kebda was served. And by fresh, I mean really fresh! Kebda--not to be confused with 'kefta'--is liver. Within about two hours of the slaughter, the organs were removed, cleaned, and cooked. Thank God for garlic, spices and lemon which make meals like this easier to eat. Although I've tried the stomach and intestines (and probably some other miscellaneous body parts from inside), I prefer to stay away from them if possible. Haitam knows this and so he asked me the next day, "If you were stuck in the desert and all there was to eat was l3lawa (pronounced more or less 'LuhaLWAH'), would you eat it?" I said, "Yes of course, but there's a huge fish in front of us, so I prefer the fish!" So far, the intestines and stomach are my least favorite (after a few bites I'm finished), the liver is pretty manageable but not my favorite, and the meat itself I love. I have yet to try the sheep brains... so it's going to be a tough call between the sheep brains and intestines. If I try, I'll tell you which one is more enjoyable. :)

That night, I went for a walk around Tangier. The Eid is a bit similar to Christmas Day (or even the Superbowl) in America. The streets are probably the least crowded as they can be throughout the year, most stores are closed and most of the people are in their homes enjoying the holiday. This is of course with the exception of the couple thousand people who think it's a good idea take their kids to Legoland on Christmas and eat at the Cafe... meaning that people like me had to work last Christmas. At least in Tangier, there is no Legoland or other themeparks that are open on the Eid, so just about everything is closed. Turning the corner of nearly every street I found big metal trash cans turning into bon fires filled with wood and coals. Kids, teenagers and young adults alike were all gathered around the flame with rebar metal or long sticks One one end they stood away from the heat holding the stick over fire as if they were roasting marshmallows. But instead of marshmallows they had sheep heads impaled on the other end and were roasting them over the open fire. After the sheep were slaughtered, most people gave their heads to the eager kids and teenagers to start roasting in the afternoon. I guess the best way to eat the head is like a rotisserie chicken; over open flame. It was kind of a weird night for me. Empty streets, trash cans and open flames everywhere, kids roasting sheep heads huddled around the open flames, closed stores and cafes and just an overall weird ambience. Maybe it was a bit more barbaric than I'm used to for a Thanksgiving weekend, but I'm thankful I was able to experience this holiday as over a billion people around the world were doing the same... 4 or 5 times as many people than those celebrating Thanksgiving... weird!

Tonight was holiday number 3 of the long weekend. OK, so it's not an official holiday, but it had a similar affect that holidays have in society. Tonight, people gathered together across race, religion and citizenship to watch the infamous Barcelona/Madrid match. Originally I wanted to watch it in a cafe... where most people in Morocco watch football matches. When it comes to the Spanish league (and other European leagues, but mostly the Spanish League and the Champions League), Moroccans are crazy about football. It could be your first visit to Tangier and if when walking down the street you hear a loud uproar and people cheering, you could probably bet money that it was either a Barcelona or Madrid game (with few exceptions such as the Egypt vs Algeria game a few weeks ago in which most Moroccans supporting their neighbors went crazy--and when i say 'went crazy' i mean, they really went crazy... it beats any Lakers game, boxing match, or superbowl game--at the first score made by Algeria). So when Madrid and Barcelona face each other in a match two times every year, known as El Clasico, it's like a cocktail for the perfect storm. When you take possibly the two best clubs in the world and the best players in the world, you cannot leave unsatisfied, as was the case with this years' El Clasico. Because of the cold rainy weather in Tangier this weekend, I decided to stay home and watch it with Haitam and a few friends. It might not have been the craziness or roudyness of the cafe clamour, but it was still exciting (not to mention that time with friends and relationships is more important than my own desire to have an 'authentic experience'). The match was one of the best that I've watched in a long time. Thanks to Ibrahamovic's beautiful goal, Barcelona took the victory against Madrid as 1-0. Although there was only one goal, every minute was filled with intense playing and unmatched skillfulness. After the victory, crowds filed out of the cafes and on to the streets, cars honking and people celebrating. It seemed like people were more excited about the El Clasico as they were yesterday for the Eid. In this way, I consider El Clasico a holiday celebrated by people throughout the world, especially here in Morocco and I imagine even more so in Spain.

Speaking of Spain, I have to share a little bit about the 7 days I spent traveling around Andalusia with my mom as she came to visit. However, I know that just talking about the highlights won't do the trip justice because it was an incredible week traveling around to some of the most beautiful and historic cities and spending such quality time with my mom. We've traveled a lot together, especially throughout Middle School and High School, but it's been years since we got this quality time together. It's weird to think that the most quality time we have together usually take place outside the country, especially because I spend most of my time now at my University in Los Angeles and if I'm not in LA, I'm either at home in San Diego for a few days and or out of the country again. So we took the ferry across the Straight of Gibraltar--something I've been waiting to do since I first arrived in Tangier because I look across the Straight every day to the coast of Southern Spain--and bused from Tarifa to Algeciras where we rented a car and headed north to Sevilla. Oh the joys of driving. I know a lot of people (or maybe just my dad) hate driving. But because I haven't driven since I left America (except for the handful of times I drove Mounia's car in Fes and the few times I drove here in Tangier) and I don't mind driving (especially if it's a brand new rental car!) and there is no traffic, it was great! Not only was being in a new country, a new continent, a new culture and new language a nice change, driving a new car on nice European roads was one of the little things that made me happy.

After a quick stop in the small hill town called Arcos de la Frontera, we continued on to Sevilla and arrived before dark. I was really enjoying driving until we got to the small cobble-stone streets of Sevilla (and every other city for that matter). There's no grid, no organized layout of the city, and all the streets are one-way alleys. Good thing we didn't rent a Hummer because we wouldn't have even been able to drive down the streets without getting sandwiched by the tight buildings or road markers. Sevilla was impressive. I don't know if it was because I was back in the First World, the "West", in love with Spain and Andalusia, enjoying speaking Spanish, excited for tapas and beer or all of the above, but I loved Sevilla. The first night there I thought to myself "Oh I could live here! This is my favorite city in Spain (I only knew Barcelona, Girona, and Madrid before this trip)". But as the week continued, I had the same reaction everywhere we went. When we got to Cordoba, I loved it. Maybe not as many tapas bars as Sevilla, but so many good restaurants and a new part of the city that reminded me a lot of Argentina (probably why they named a city in Argentina Cordoba). Marbella (pronounced "Mar-Bey-ya" which means 'beautiful ocean' in Spanish) was the next stop. It wasn't like Sevilla or Cordoba but it was on the beach, situated along the beautiful "Costa del Sol" (The Sun Coast) between Gibraltar and Malaga. Our first night at the timeshare was spent with a walk to the beach (maybe a two minute walk from our room) for a beautiful sunset and glass of wine. Not a bad life... right? This was Thanksgiving vacation for me.... so it was nice to enjoy the beach, sunsets, time with mom, and sightseeing... something I never do or usually like to do. But a few days of sightseeing once in awhile isn't too bad. Mom and I made a day trip to Gibraltar, the British enclave peninsula across the bay from Algeciras. Like Ceuta, the Spanish enclave in Morocco, Gibraltar was weird. I can't imagine growing up in either of these places. You are British, living in the UK, using British Pounds and eating fish & chips, but you are surrounded by Spain. If you want to travel more than 5 miles (8km), you have to leave your country. Or in the case of Ceuta, you are a Spanish citizen, using Euros, enjoying tapas and beer, but anymore than 5miles from your home you are in a new country. You live in Africa, but you are in Spain. If you want to travel around your own country, you have to go to a different continent, taking a boat across the Straight of Gibraltar to the mainland. Weird! To top it all off, I found more people speaking Spanish in Gibraltar (UK) than English, and in Ceuta, I found the same thing with more people speaking Arabic and wearing djellabas than speaking Spanish. Gibraltar and Ceuta are quite possibly the two weirdest places I've ever been!

After Gibraltar, we headed back for one more night in Marbella and then left in the morning for Granada. I heard that Granada was one of the most beautiful (if not the most beautiful) cities in Spain... and it sure was. Like my reaction in Sevilla and Cordoba I thought, "I could live here!" Granada is known for its tapas and tapas bars because it's one of the few cities in Spain where they still serve you "free" tapas when you order a drink, alcoholic or not. My mom couldn't wrap her mind around this concept... maybe because it was our last stop and because we've been paying for tapas the whole trip. But it's the way it should be (بنسبه لي) and I hope Granada doesn't change.

One of the many highlights was a flamenco show we attended our first night in Sevilla. Sevilla is known for its flamenco and I'm so glad we went to a somewhat traditional flamenco. (I say "somewhat traditional" because I'm not flamenco expert, so I dont know how traditional it was, and the one we went to features local artists and is not as touristy as the other ones) I was astonished throughout the whole 60minute show. I got lost in the guitar player's skillful strumming, elegant melodies and unparalleled talent, as I've never heard such beautiful sounds come from a guitar before. The whole performance and experience was remarkable. Although the guitar player was world class and producing sweet sounds for the audience to hear, focusing only on the guitar would have been a shame. It was the full experience that made it so impressive. It was the music that captured the ears but the dancing that fancied the aesthetics. I felt at times like I was on a roller coaster; sometimes feeling a rush of intensity while the man rapidly strummed the guitar and the lady danced like crazy, and then instantly a stopped. Then it would build up again slowly and break, continue, rise and fall several times. If you let the music have control, there's really nothing like it. It was one of the most beautiful pieces of art I've ever seen. The flamenco trio (guitarist, singer, dancer) was doing what they do best to create one lively outpouring of art, beauty, talent, and music. Within minutes, the whole audience was consumed. If you take two people for example, (I think it would have still been incredible with the guitarist and the dancer) with such different talents and abilities and put them together as one... wow! It's stunning! Call me crazy, but I think this is a beautiful analogy for a marriage/relationship. Sure the guitarist on his own is great and same with the dancer. But when you have two people with such diverse talents and abilities and synchronize them, the finished product is something amazing! How beautiful is it when a man and women, so different and unique in their own ways, come together in a life that naturally draws people, not to the individual but instead to beauty and fullness of something that is beyond them, greater than themselves.

Spain was wonderful! Cathedrals, mosques, history, statues, good food and great atmosphere captured most of our time. Although we were in Andalusia, the once Muslim/Arab occupied region of Spain, I was reminded that we weren't in Morocco anymore. From the church bells sounding throughout the day which replaced the "Adhan" (Muslim call for prayer) which I've become accustom to hearing every day, to the 20-30 page menus for just wine (something not so uncommon in restaurants across the region), I was reminded that we were in a different country, a different continent, and among people of a different religion. Not to say that I don't like Moroccan anymore, but having spent the last 5-6 months in one country, one culture, and one religion (with a few exceptions of gatherings of Christian bible studies and times of worship), it was a nice change. And although I often feel more at home in the global south (and/or non-Occidental countries), Spain was an exception. I look forward to going back in the future (Inshallah) to both the same places and new ones as well.

It looks like this might be the longest entry so far. As always, I have just scratched the surface of describing my time, experiences, observations and interpretations of these past few weeks. If you've gotten this far, thank you! Thank you for your time, your curiosity, your investment in my life. I look forward to getting together with you to share even more about my experiences and the things I am taking away from them. As of now, I have less than two weeks left in this country before I head back to America. I cannot even fathom being back in America in two weeks time. It hasn't hit me yet, and I don't know if it will until I actually get there. In these next few days in Tangier, I will be finishing my research and other work for my Global Learning Term, as well as saying many sad goodbyes and trying to find some sort of closing--physically, emotionally and spiritually--to these last 6 months. It seems just like yesterday that I arrived in Tangier, wrote my first blog, and was at the beach enjoying summer, but I need to look back upon these past months which were full of new experiences, challenges, frustrations, lessons, and new people in my life.

I will try to write one last blog before I leave, but I do not know what the rest of my time will look like. However, I do plan on keeping this blog at least for a while and I have several thoughts and insights that I would love to share with you all (in blog format)... things that have been brewing since the day that I got here and that I've been wanting to share. Stay tuned for those.

In closing, السالام عليكم, As-Salaama Alaikum, 'Peace be with you'.

Ramadan Reflections and Ibrahim's Smile

I realize that when I don't write often, I'm left with an abundance of words. I apologize for the length of this entry, but I encourage you to read the whole thing if you have time. I hope you enjoy my Ramadan reflections and writing about the past few weeks....

Ramadan is now officially over. Last night at this time, I also thought Ramadan was over. Everyone was talking about how the Eid (holiday) was going to be today but due to a moonless sky, Ramadan went on for another day. The Islamic year is based on the lunar calendar, something I am not used to growing up in the US. Each year, every Eid and the month of Ramadan take place 15 or 16 days before it did the last year. In some countries, Ramadan may start or end a day earlier or later than another country... it all depends on the moon. Assuming that yesterday was last day of Ramadan, when people found out that it was one more day of fasting, I felt a sense of burden among the people. To make things worse, today is a Sunday and therefore, most everything is already closed. The last day of fasting became a day of rest, sleeping in, and naps for many Moroccans. Its amazing to think about how the lives of 35 million Moroccans and 1.3 billion Muslims around the world are at the will, so to speak, of the moon. This has made me realize two things. The first is that Ramadan has really showed me the freedom we have in Christ. Jesus invites us to live an abundant life with the freedom to love and be perfect. It may be an impossible task, but it is the goal; to "be perfect, for the Lord your God is perfect" (Matthew 5:48). This does not take place one month of the year, but every day that our heart beats. It is a freedom not to indulge in a selfish life for oursevles, but instead to "serve one another in love" (Galatians 5:13). On the flip side, I think there is something to learn about being at the will of the moon. Like my attitude yesterday, too often we are concerned about tomorrow. I had my heart set on Ramadan being over, not because fasting is so difficult, but because I was so excited about the Eid (Eid Al Fitr is the holiday at the end of Ramadan... consists of eating breakfast (the real thing, not the one at sunset) with your family, the first time in a month, and then visiting friends and family for the reminder of the day while wearing Morocco's traditional dress, a djellaba) and to move on with life. I'm ready to get on with the next thing, but with the prolonging of Ramadan, I'm reminded to focus on today. And let me tell you, today has been a great day (more on that below)! If we are satisfied with today and not preoccupied with the worries of tomorrow, we can enjoy life. This is the day that the Lord has made, so rejoice and be glad in it (Psalm 118:24) for tomorrow has enough worries of its own (Matthew 6:24). When we live at the will of the moon (aka, God, the creator of the heavens and the earth), we cannot control the future, but are instead forced to live in the present. What a beautiful and calming lesson that can be learned from this. Let us focus our eyes on today instead of tomorrow so that we may see the beautiful things, both big and small, that God has given us.

Besides learning how to live at the will of the moon, I have learned a few other things during this Ramadan. A month ago, I started fasting and fasted the whole month, except for the four days I spent in The Netherlands and the one day I was sick here in Tangier. If I was following the pure form of Muslim fasting as discussed in the Qur'an than I have nothing to worry about. In Islam, exceptions to fasting are made for those who are on a journey (my trip to Holland) or who are ill (like I was a week ago) as well as those who are pregnant, children, and a few other exceptions. However, these days must be made up later in the year. If someone breaks the fast before the call for prayer at sunset and he/see does not fall under any of these categories of exception, the punishment is quite heavy. For every day one breaks the fast early (intentionally), their punishment includes the following choices: freeing a slave (a bit more difficult to do now than back in the 7th century), fasting for two months (this also means that if you break the fast 2 days you can add 4 months to your fasting, including having to finish Ramadan), or feeding 60 poor people (not giving them money, but feeding them, with the same amount of food you would eat... in other words, you can't just buy 60 McDonald's burgers or loaves of bread and pass them out to 60 beggars). I'm not a Muslim, but if I was, I don't know what I would choose. The truth is that even today, there are hundreds of thousands of slaves around the world today, ranging from child labor slaves to sex slaves. As much as I would love to free a slave, there are two factors I need to consider. First is the fact that I don't know of any slaves. I don't know where I could begin to look for them... maybe visiting a brothel in Thailand frequented by American, Canadian, European, Russian, Saudi Arabian, or Australian men men on "Sex Tours" (yes, as disgusting as this is it's the truth... such "tours" can even be arranged in Los Angeles) or a cocoa farm in West Africa run by a large multi-national corporation that exploits their workers so that the privileged in the global north can indulge in chocolate, unaware of the tired perhaps bloody hands that picked it under the extreme conditions of climate and abuse. The second aspect worth considering is being able to recognize and tend to the psychological effects of being released from slavery. I read an article a few years back about the psychological repercussions that freed slaves suffer from after being "released". Though physically released, every other aspect of their being remains in bondage to their master and the once-slave-now-free person often seeks to return to their previous lifestyle. I'm not saying that slaves should remain slaves, but a freed slave needs serious psychotherapy, otherwise they are worse off than they were before. (I cannot remember the exact title of the article, but if you are interested, please contact me. I have the article back in the US and I could pass it along when I get back) So maybe then I would fast for two months or feed 60 poor people. Fasting for two months seems a bit selfish, so I might as well spend the energy doing something that is beneficial to others, not just focus on myself for two months. Then again, I've cooked for 10 or 15 people and that was a lot of work. 60? I'd definitely need some lessons in the kitchen from some of the Moroccan women, who cook for 20-30 people like it's just another night with the family.

Ramadan has definitely been a time of reflection, not just fasting. Actually, when I look back on Ramadan, fasting remains in the background. The focus of every day seems to be the f'tour (feasting). "F'tour" literally means "breakfast" since it is the first meal eaten. At the Maghreb (sunset), the call for prayer is proclaimed from loudspeakers on every minaret in the city. When Ramadan began a month ago, the maghreb was around 7:30pm and with the days getting shorter, the maghreb tonight was at 6:28pm. The later in the month it gets, the less time it is to fast. In The Netherlands though, the maghreb wasn't until 9pm when I was there... making Ramadan much more difficult for the thousands of Muslims living there and in northern Europe. Forbidden during (the day) Ramadan are eating, drinking, smoking, lying, sexual activities, fighting, lust, alcohol, etc. but once the sun sets, the fasting is over. Things like eating and drinking (and smoking for some) are now permissible. I'm having trouble understanding how other things people fast from, like lusting, bad language, or lying are OK to do at night, but not during the day, or even after Ramadan for that matter. I know that no one can be perfect, but if Ramadan is supposed to be a month of fasting from the things of this world that bring us further away from God, it seems that it would be missing the point for people to carry on staring at girls the wrong way or taking part in indecent behavior just because the sun went down and the rules don't apply as strictly anymore. I'm reminded of the brilliant, and sometimes humbling words "It is not what goes into a man's mouth that makes him 'unclean,' but what comes out of his mouth that makes him clean, for the things that come out of the mouth come from the heart" (Matthew 15:11,18). The broader picture of this is that the life we produce through words, actions, and attitudes, come from the heart. This is of unparalleled significance to the things that we put in our body. If for example I fast (during the day) for a month straight and eat only kosher food (at night), it is unrivaled to my actions, attitudes, and words, which originate from the heart. If by night my heart is full of hate and lust, what good is fasting during the day? I don't mean to sound harsh or sound as if I'm making sweeping statements about Moroccans. Alternately, I'm thinking out loud, as these are some of the thoughts I've been wrestling with the past couple weeks. These words to not convey direct experiences but instead express personal reflections regarding fasting. It's not so much about the details of the law as it is the heart of the law. Furthermore, I'm seeking to understand the Muslim context in which I am living in while keeping Jesus' words fresh and alive in my life.

Anyways, back to the food! F'tour, or breakfast, is taken at the maghreb. I am blessed to have had the opportunity to take f'tour with at least 15 different people/families and locations. I broke the fast with wealthy families and a huge feast throughout many parts of Morocco, with younger Moroccans fresh out of college and making the transition into the adult/working life in Casablanca (the biggest city... a city of opportunities), with my host family in Fez, with a poor family in Azrou, in a restaurant in the college town of Ifrane, at a bible study with Al-Akhawayn University international students and faculty, on an airplane just before take off (nearly everyone on the plane was Moroccan and at sunset, people all of a sudden broke out meals they prepared and packed in tupper-wear containers and shared with everyone.... I brought a bag of dates to share with others... I'm quickly learning that in Morocco "what's mine is yours"... sharing is a part of the everyday life), and with friends, old and new, in several different homes here in Tangier. Typically, 30 minutes before the maghreb (and sometimes up to 45 minutes or an hour), families start gathering around the table as it is being set. The empty dinner tables quickly become filled with harira (soup), shabakia (sweet pastry-like thing with honey), dates, baklava, a plethora of sweet Moroccan pastries, milk, and juice. Then, everyone sits around the table and waits for the call. At the sound of "Allah Akbar..." ("God the Greatest...") everyone digs in. Once again, this idea that life revolves around the moon, or in this case, the call for prayer is so foreign to me. At that call, life changes. Drinks are sipped, food is eaten, and cigarettes are lit. Words cannot express what it is like to live by the authority of a call for prayer. I had trouble with that throughout the month. Some days I wanted to fast longer and other days I just wanted pray or go spend the meal with someone on the streets. The first few days, I was so thirsty that I skipped the food and went straight for the juice and the water. One thing I miss is saying a prayer of thanksgiving before eating, especially during such an important meal. Part of fasting is the aspect of remembering the poor and knowing what it may be like to be poor and hungry, but this is soon forgotten when there is a feast in front of your eyes and everyone starts devouring their food. Throughout the month, I tried to remember to spend time giving thanks to God for the food. For me, beginning a meal, in this case f'tour, should be marked with thanksgiving and not just hearing the call for prayer at the maghreb.

The f'tour meal lasts anywhere between 20 minutes and 2 hours. It is usually followed by tea and more pastries. One night in Tangier, I was invited for f'tour with Haitam (who I'm staying with), his dad, and his brothers. (Haitam's mom has been in Saudi Arabia for the last month for the "O'mara", not to be confused with the Hajj. Since she is gone all month, the boys (including the father) are left to eat f'tour at other peoples' homes or downstairs with Haitam's aunt because most men do not cook in Morocco). Not only did this one f'tour meal last 2 hours, but two rounds of two different tea were served, followed by a huge "dinner" (as if we weren't already full). Four hours later, we were done eating! This isn't anything out of the norm for Morocco, especially during Ramadan. I had trouble adjusting to eating absolutely nothing during the day and then feasting (literally) once the sun went down. I'm still having trouble trying to swallow (excuse the pun) this idea of "fasting". Personally, I think fasting should be the giving up of a meal, or two or three or four...etc. Instead, the month of Ramadan is fasting in the day and feasting at night. The meals that would be eaten during the day are pushed back until after sunset. This calls for a very late night. Dinner time is usually around 12 midnight or 1am. However, one night Haitam and I played a futsal match with some friends from 12:30-1:30am. Any excersize/activity during the day is difficult, especially when you can't drink water. So the only time to play soccer is at night, several hours after people spend f'tour with their families and friends. We got home after 2am, showered, and ate around 3am. This is the life of Ramadan in Morocco. Now that Ramadan is over, I'm looking forward to going to bed before 2am, morning runs and staying hydrated throughout the day. And the food... not as big of a deal as long as I eat once or twice. Not eating during the day even saved me a bit of money and we know that's always a plus! :)

Tonight, I just got back from a huge dinner. I had f'tour here with Haitam's family (minus his mom who is in Saudi Arabia for another week) and then we were invited to a friend's house for dinner. There were about 10 of us in total, all crowded around a 5 foot table. For dinner, an entire goat was served on a huge platter that just about took up the whole table. It's not very Moroccan to use cutlery, so we all dug in with our hands. I felt pretty barbaric sitting at the table with 10 other men eating a roasted goat with our hands. I've had goat quite a bit in parts of Africa and even India but this one took away the gold medal! After stuffing myself with a kilo worth of meat, a large assortment of fruit was served. Just when I thought I couldn't put anything else down my throat, we all shared an icecream cake from one of my favorite cafe's in Tangier. What a meal! This definitely makes the Top 10 list of meals I've had in Morocco.

Although the meal was definitely nothing short of a highlight to my day, the main highlight happened earlier this afternoon. Two blocks from Haitam's house, on the way to the main street, is a wall that attracts a handful of beggars. Most of the beggars here are regulars that I walk by every day. Some of them are blind, others missing a limb (others two, three, or all limbs), and there are sometimes women and children. My heart breaks every time I walk by them. I pass by them daily, sometimes several times in one day. Besides not being able to speak enough Arabic with them, I'm left with limited options. (1) I can smile at them, hoping that it might brighten their day just a little bit. On the other hand, I have to wonder what it must be like for them to see me walk by and smile like everything is OK and life is wonderful. I usually take the risk and give a little smile. (2) I can give them some money. The problem with this is twofold: I have a limited amount of money because i have no income and secondly, if i give to one, i should probably give to all. Since I see them every day, when do i give them money? I can't do it every day, otherwise i might run out of money and be stuck in Morocco. Hey, maybe that's a good idea! ;) (3) I can give them food. This too has been a problem. During Ramadan, finding food during the day is more difficult than one might imagine and eating in public is illegal. With the food option out of the question (until after tomorrow), I'm left with options 1 and 2.

So today I passed by a guy who I see just about every day. I smile at him and he gives me a warm smile back. More than anyone else, I feel drawn to this guy. His smile is impressive and it touches my spirit, walking by him several times a day as he sits in his wheel chair with only one leg and an outstretched arm. Unlike the other beggars, he does not say anything or try to get peoples attention. He just sits there waiting for someone to notice him and give a smile so he can give one in return. I can tell he is African, so I assumed that he knew a little English. Today as I was walked back to the house, I was praying for him, praying that he would be there and I could get to talk to him for a bit. Sure enough, as I turned the corner, I laid eyes on him. I greeted him and Arabic and shook his hand. I made sure to shake his hand and put my arm on his shoulder like most Moroccans do when they greet each other. The power of touch is something that most people take for granted as part of their everyday life. When you live on the streets and live off of the change that people give to you, you are nothing more than an outcast, an untouchable. Humans need physical touch to survive and remain healthy, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally (there have been studies on it). Henri Nouwen, a Dutch priest/pastor for a mentally handicapped community in Canada/author, describes his day at an orphanage in poverty-stricken Bolivia, "The children were so starved for affection that they fought with each other for the privilege of touching me. How little do we really know the power of physical touch. These boys and girls only wanted one thing: to be touched, hugged, stroked, and caressed. Probably most adults have the same needs but no longer have the innocence and unself-consciousness to express them. Sometimes I see humanity as a sea of people starving for affection, tenderness, care, love, acceptance, forgiveness, and gentleness" (Gracias! pg. 44). With an exchange of handshakes and greetings in Arabic, I asked him if he spoke English. Being from Senegal he spoke mostly French, but could understand most of my English. I sat with him and talked for a few minutes. A man, whom I didn't notice, was listening to us talk. He was Moroccan and offered to translate for me, just to make sure my new friend Ibrahim knew what I was saying. When you step out of the status quo, people not only notice but are drawn to do the same. With a little act of love, walls come quickly down and all of a sudden a Muslim Moroccan, a Senegali immigrant, and a Christian from America are quickly joined together. What a beautiful sight. So I told Ibrahim that because I live just down the street, I will see him every day and I won't be the stranger who just walks by with a smile. Although I gave him some money, I told him that whatever he needs to let me know. I may not have tons of money to offer him, but what I do have is love and touch.

I tell you this story for a few reasons. I do not want to build myself to be a righteous do-gooder or anything like that... I am neither of those. I wanted to tell you about my new friend, a man who's smile is not only contagious but humbling at the same time. When you sit in the same spot every day with a humble outstretch hand and with one less leg than everyone who walks by, grateful for the smallest coin to drop from someone's hand and you can still put a smile on your face... that is powerful! I don't know Ibrahim's story, but that my next reason for writing this. Morocco attracts a lot of immigrants from Sub-Saharan Africa. Located only 15 kilometers across the Straight of Gibraltar from Spain (the EU), Tangier is the destination for thousands who flee their home country in hopes to pursue a better life in Europe. Although Europe is the goal, most do not get there. Some stay in Morocco, finding life in Morocco better than their war-torn and impoverished homelands. Others, who remain set on their original goal, attempt to cross the Mediterranean in makeshift boats. If they are not caught by official patrol or guard boats, they often capsize and drown. The narrow, but deadly, straight has claimed countless lives of those who tried to cross, as it did this weekend (see attached link to article: http://english.aljazeera.net/news/africa/2009/09/200991919917332747.html). The ugly truth is that people leave their dire situations to search for a better life, a life where they can live in peace and dignity, without the threat or fear that terrorizes them daily. Some have fled civil wars and others manage to escape grinding poverty. Despite your political views on immigration, these are people in desperate need of love... a love that comes from the God of peace, not in the unfulfilled dreams and policies of politicians and world leaders. The Bible speaks repeatedly about caring for the stranger and the alien. Even if you don't follow the Bible, I think the least we can do as decent human beings is to stretch out a caring hand to these poor and oppressed people. If we can attempt to put ourselves in their shoes, then we can begin to understand what life is like for so many people in this world.

I don't know Ibrahim's story. I don't know how he lost his leg. I don't know if he's attempted the most frightening and treacherous task of crossing the Mediterranean in a makeshift raft with the hope of starting a new life in Europe, or if he's lost family or friends in the process of doing so. I do know that he deserves the loving touch of a friend and a few bucks at the very least. I ask that you will be praying for Ibrahim. Though you don't know him, please pray for his life as a foreigner, an alien, an amputee, a beggar, and a beloved child of God. Pray that through his little bit of English and my little bit of French and Arabic that we will be able to communicate with eachother. More importantly, I would encourage you (I want to command you but that might just be too overbearing... so I challenge you) to love. Jesus says that of course we can love our friends, anyone can do that. But can we love those we don't like? our enemies? the marginalized? In America, there are plenty of marginalized people groups. Illegal immigrants may be a drain on the education system, but that's no excuse not to love them, to treat them with dignity and respect, to reach out a caring and helping hand, to invite them into our homes or out for a meal, or to put ourselves in their shoes and imagine what a day in the life of an immigrant might be like. May we learn from Ibrahim's smile to be grateful of all things even though all around us looks so much better. May we learn from and love the meek.